Out of Reach
by Dalakh
Summary: Post X2. Scott still misses Jean...Ororo tries to make him see sense. Read for a better idea 'cause i don't wanna give it away Please RR
1. Beginning

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
A/N: this has been sitting on one of my floppy disks... thought i may as well put it up. Please R/R, i'll luff you forever if you do!  
  
  
**_Out of Reach_**   
Part One   
Scott wandered absently through the hallways; his feet on the wooden floor the only sound. He didn't sleep much anymore, he couldn't even though the only thing he wanted to do was fall into a blissful slumber, because when he was asleep, he was with Jean. His Jeanie, his dreams were full of her, her smile, the taste of her lips, and the smell of her hair, the feeling of his hand in hers, the soft touch of her arms when she hugged him…  
Scott shook his head violently. Now he couldn't sleep at all, it was always just out of his reach, and he refused to take any pills for it. He wasn't a fool, take enough sleeping pills enough and you were hooked. He didn't need to be dependant on anything. He was Cyclops, the fearless leader who felt no pain and needed no help. Accept for that one time on the jet, a few of the students could now say, he'd broke down completely, screamed and punched and cried; Cyclops, their fearless leader, a blubbering, worthless idiot, who couldn't even look after the love of his life, his fiancée.  
Midnight was such a wonderful time in the mansion's grounds, which was where his meandering feet had finally taken him. The sky was completely clear, the millions of stars like fireflies high above him, beautiful and just out of his reach, like sleep.   
The canvas on which they'd been painted wasn't black, like so many people offhandedly described it -he could see black and what he saw through his shaded red visor wasn't black. To him the sky was the darkest red, elegant, never-ending, and almost majestic. A long time ago, before his mutation had manifested, he remembered staring at the sky and it being dark blues and purples, he used to stay up for hours just to stare at it when he was little, the interest had never faded as he got older, but other things that, at the time had been oh-so-much more important he'd never really done it again. Red wasn't so bad though, once you got used to it.  
The moon was out tonight as well, half-crescent and what would've been gleaming white, but was now pale red, like a benevolent soul it watched over the world, lighting even the night with borrowed light.   
  
He shivered involuntarily, his breath clouding in front of him, the tee shirt and jeans he wore not protecting from the cold all that much. He could only wear preppy clothes for so long, and that was to encourage his 'image' with the students, because he was, in reality, not all that older that some of them -and Jean liked that look. Now though, now she was gone. Now she was dead and he was alone and it was all his fault. He should've done something, anything. He should've blasted a whole through the door and gone to fetch her. But he didn't. He let her die.   
Goose pimples engulfed his skin, but he didn't go inside, just kept walking. Right there, by the lake, was where he'd asked her to marry him, there was where she'd kissed him a few days before he'd taken the Professor to see Magneto and she'd left to find the teleporter, Kurt Wagner. Everywhere he went there was a memory. He couldn't escape them; they coated everything he looked at, their bathroom was filled with her scent and her perfume 'Angel', his socks arranged neatly in the door according to shade -it'd been her idea so he didn't wear odd socks, down in the lab everywhere he looked he saw something Jean had done or thought of, it was also partly the reason he wasn't sleeping. She wasn't there with him. It wasn't their bed anymore, it was his and he didn't want his own bed, he wanted to share it with her, hear her at night breathing next to him, feel her skin as he held her… now it would never happen again.  
Scott ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't take it here anymore, he needed out. He needed to escape the oppressive pity and sad looks behind his back.   
Breaking into a run he sprinted through the gardens, the freezing air almost painful on his lungs; he kept running. The gardens rushed by; red and black blurs in the night, and he didn't stop running, wouldn't stop or couldn't stop until he reached the garages.  
He needed to leave. He needed to feel something other than memories and pain. Grabbing the set of keys to his favourite motorcycle, the one Logan had 'borrowed' whilst on his quest to find his past and gunned the engine.  
It roared to life, the tank full and he swerved out of the entrance so tightly his knees barely missed the tarmac covered ground.   
Jean had despised it, though she rarely said anything about it after the first few arguments, all of which were primarily about how dangerous it was. In the end they reached a compromise -he always swore a helmet and his leathers (which she bought). Tonight he had neither.  
The rush was amazing.  
It was a cliché, but he loved it: the wind in his hair, whipping it back from his face and the force of the speed pushing him backwards. This was why he loved it so much. This was when he felt free, more so than he did when he was flying the jet -then he had to have a co-pilot and be sure there were no other aircraft in visual vicinity, but on his bike… on his bike he didn't depend on anybody.   
  
It wasn't until the gas dial neared the quarter left mark that common sense woke up in the back of his mind. Reluctantly, he turned around, tearing back to the mansion.  
Minutes away from the mansion he banked around a near hair-clip corner tightly and he welcomed the pounding of his heart in his ears and the way his heart skipped a beat as he turned, practically horizontal.  
But now he was back, the tall, iron-wrought gates admitting him entrance, even at this hour, and closed with a metallic 'clang' and sense of finality that he did not like.   
He was trapped again. The ride had done little to calm his spirits in the long run, he knew, but for know he could stand the choking memories.  



	2. Continuation

Heehee thankies for the reviews =D Here's the last and final part!   
  
Part Two   
When the light of your life dies, days tend to blur, tend to become meaningless and you loose interest. Consequently, you walk around in a daze, on automatic pilot, doing what's required and going through the motions, but you are an empty shell. You hear the words but aren't listening, see what's happening, but don't take any notice, its like you're detached from your body and look at the world from a whole new perspective, one that you can't change and is hard to pull out of.  
It was how Scott lived now, had been living for nearly two weeks. And, frankly, Ororo was tired of it. Yes, they had been in love. Yes, they knew he missed her so much he couldn't speak her name anymore without getting upset. But did he think that he was the only one? Jean had been his very first student of his first students, his telepathic prodigy, the one with all the potential to be just as, or more, powerful than he. The entire school missed her, but they were moping about? No.  
It was this that led to her searching the entire mansion for the certain X-Man.  
"Scott, what are you doing?"  
She'd finally found him, on the roof, staring at the fading sunset. It was a beautiful one today, the colours crystal clear and reaching into the sky, shimmering reds, oranges and yellows.  
"Scott?"  
He still hadn't acknowledged that she was even there.  
"Scott, are you okay?"  
Originally coming up her to talk sense into him, she found herself increasingly worried about him as she stepped closer, he still hadn't moved, it was like he wasn't even breathing.  
"Scott!"  
  
"Huh?" he finally responded when she shook his shoulders.  
  
"Moping about still?"  
  
"I'm not -"  
  
"Yes you are, Scott! You do nothing but walk around half there, and the rest on that damn motocycle! Don't think no ones noticed you tearing out of here every night for the past week!"  
Scott stared at her, yet he made no attempt to defend himself, so she carried on, softer,  
"The students miss your pop quizzes -they say you haven't set any since Jean died."  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore." His voice croaked from lack of use, it wasn't only the tests that'd stopped, he barely spoke anymore either; "Nothing matters."  
  
"So the school doesn't matter? The Professor? The kids?" Ororo challenged,  
  
"Of course they do, but - they - I - it -"  
  
"It's different?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"How, Scott? Do you think they don't miss her too? Do you think you are the only one who loved her? I never thought you to be selfish."  
He stared at her, his red shades dominating an unreadable face.   
"You don't understand 'Ro, you can't… its just,"  
  
"Hard?" she said, "People dying is always hard, and it affects their loved ones even more, but death is a part of life. You deal with it and move on, because that's all you can do -you can't keep somebody from dying."  
  
"You don't understand!" he cried, striding past her, Ororo, however, had had enough of this. They were getting to the bottom of it now; he wasn't going to wallow in self-pity any longer.  
  
"Then explain it to me."  
  
He froze in place not six paces away, unsure of what to do next. She couldn't understand, and if she did, would she be mad at him? He'd broken his promise, and now Jean was gone…  
  
"My fault," he said finally,  
  
"What? Scott, what are you talking about?" Ororo watched Scott visibly struggle with his emotions as they played across his usually controlled face.  
  
"I promised her, I promised Jean that I'd take care of her. I failed and now she's dead."  
  
How could he be so… Ororo didn't finish her thought; instead she closed the distance between them and held him close. She felt him tense, but she didn't let go and he eventually relaxed, returning the hug.  
"It's not your fault; she chose to stay out there, refused to let anyone save her as she saved us all. There was nothing you could have done."  
  
He spoke into her neck, "How do you know that?"  
  
Ororo resisted the urge to hit him, selecting the second option instead. Pushing him away she looked straight into his sunglasses, to where she presumed, and hoped, his eyes were.  
"Because you tried, I tried, Kurt tried, and so did the Professor. Even Logan did. She made up her mind when she stepped down that ramp, Scott."  
Tears were slipping through, not streaming like they do in bad movies when the hero dies, but real life, grief fuelled tears that built up inside your chest, welling up where your heart lies until there's nothing you can do and they fall, slowly, one by one.  
"If you don't believe in anything else, believe that."  
He sniffed, and Ororo had to replay it to be sure it happened. He looked like a child, though he was crying over a little more than spilt milk.  
"And, I believe that Jean would not want you giving up on life, like you have done. It's not like you to give in."  
  
Scott nodded, looking back to the almost spent sun,  
"I miss her."  
  
"We all do," she said, "Do you remember when you first got your bike after you got your license? You were so excited you were practically bouncing off of the walls. You wanted to go out on it all night and all day for the rest of your life."  
  
The edges of his mouth turned up slightly at the memory, "Jean forbade me. She said, if I wanted to end up a pile of blood and guts on a road somewhere I was welcome to, and if I survived she would never speak to me again."  
  
Ororo laughed, "I've never seen you look so torn!"  
  
"It was a hard choice: my bike or my girl! We compromised eventually though… she bought me leathers and a helmet for my un-birthday." He openly smiled now, joining in with Ororo, who was twice as happy to see Scott smiling at all -it had been too long. It was also the first time they'd spoken about their memories, the funeral had been a difficult one that Scott only attended to satisfy Jean's mother's grieving needs -they held it in a church, which he disliked, they'd invited all of the Grey family friends, most or all of which Jean barely tolerated, and they'd buried a casket even though there was no body, which Scott was furious at.  
  
"Do you want to go for a walk?" Ororo offered, holding out her hand to him, a long time friend. He nodded, grasping the extended hand.  
They walked down the roof, still discussing Jean and recalling their fond memories. Sneaking a short glance now and then, she was pleased to see Scott relaxed and comfortable walking about the gardens. Finally, she thought, he was going to be okay, not right now, but he was on the pale red brick road to regaining most of his life back.  
  
And that night, he didn't steal away on his bike.  
  
  
  



End file.
